Bared
by Le Masque31
Summary: "This fire licking at my veins—he caused it, he stoked it to a delirious, violent crux ..." Offers insight into Melkor's thoughts about a certain lieutenant. Written from Melkor's perspective. Angbang, though nothing explicit. One-shot.


**A/N: **This fic was inspired by markedasinfernal (theeventualwinter on AO3) and her brilliant take on Angbang, but I cannot hope to do justice to her versions of Melkor and Mairon. Seriously, if you have never read any of her stories, go ahead and do it now. You will not regret it.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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As he knelt before my throne, I saw that he was trembling. His hair was flung over his face—a curtain of gold drawn over the quiver of his lips, the fear in his eyes.

A sneer ripped across my face (_weakness and endless darkness and scraping chains_), and I would have meant it too—but no, not with him, never with him. I shifted, fabric hissing over the steel of the throne, and he twined his fingers together—nails tearing, sweat sticky—the sight of him wringing his hands … Oh, he looked like an offering—a dainty thing clasping his hands in silent supplication to a god.

"I'm s-sorry, my lord," he stammered in that small, breathless voice that never failed to set desire roiling at the base of my stomach. Mairon, proud, beautiful Mairon, abasing himself thus at my feet—so pliant, so submissive—this creature that would burn me to my core if I let him.

I tightened my hands on the arms of the throne. Did he know?

"I d-didn't mean to forget," he continued, glancing up at me with wide eyes and—

(_starlight glimmered in them, and I would watch him, of course I would watch him, sometimes, late at night, when he took to the heights of Thangorodrim to gaze at the stars, and such wonder glowed in his face, so delicate, so precious, and I would remember how, I would remember why_)

Apologies were tumbling off his lips and hurtling across the room to cling to me, as he himself would have wanted—I could see it in the tension in his limbs, the crimson flaming across his cheeks—and I pushed myself off the throne, descending the steps of the dais to pause in front of him. And oh, he knew how to play the game, but did he know the rules?

This fire licking at my veins—he caused it, he stoked it to a delirious, violent crux—that lithe, deceptive body—those glistening lips swollen from the abuse of his own teeth—those _eyes_ … Possessiveness flared within me. I wanted to take him—bend him over the throne and fuck him until only my name would shiver upon his lips. I wanted to watch him shatter across the floor—to lap at his blood—to reach deep inside of him, shred order and upend caches and drag trembling into the light those sweet, dark thoughts he kept even from himself. I wanted his essence upon my hands, my lips, though it would scorch me. I wanted him tied up and strung inescapably before me—he would take it, my violence, my sin—he _could_ take it—and he would breathe the words against my mouth, he would brand himself mine.

I did none of those things. I curled my fingers round his chin and tipped his head upward. He stared at me, all silver irises and parted lips, and I could feel the warmth of his breath ripple across my skin.

"It is no matter," I murmured, and I could see it slide through him—that widening of the eyes—the jerk he gave when it jarred against his awareness.

"M-my lord?" Oh, Mairon. If only you believed me.

I took him by the hand and cajoled him to his feet. My fingers brushed his cheek, strayed into his hair to tuck a wayward strand behind his ear. He leaned into my touch—_I can read you like an open book, Mairon, fair and cruel, quivering in your radiance like the angel you once were_—and his eyelids fluttered shut; a dusting of gold against his pale skin. Affection coiled round desire—warm where the other was slick and urgent—and I touched my lips to his, wanting, needing—

(_undone by the sweet moans against my mouth, the frantic fingers searching, stroking, and oh, if only you looked, Mairon, you would see my secrets laid bare, reflected in the silver of your eyes_)

"It seems you were just in time," I breathed into the kiss as his fingers wrapped more firmly round my cock, coaxing me even harder.

A startled laugh sprang from his lips (_the tinkle of water, but louder, fuller somehow, as though the blaze of his furnaces was behind it_), and I kissed him until the sound turned soft and needy—a moan quavering in his throat—and I let him give voice to his pleasure—to _our_ pleasure—for us both.

He was boundless, his spirit seeping into me, winding about my very soul. I would forget, tonight—and the night after, if he would but stay. The softness of his lips padded biting metal; his warm, slick fingers dragging up and down my length set heat unfurling, thawing the cold.

I wondered if he knew (_the beating of hearts, thump thump thump against my ribcage, and all of it for him_); if he would believe.


End file.
